


Dusk

by pressedinthepages



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Other, Roach Has The Braincell, geralt has a flip phone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:09:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27253966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pressedinthepages/pseuds/pressedinthepages
Summary: Geralt is out when he gets a text, prompting an early return home.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	Dusk

**Author's Note:**

> request by @apollos-garden [ [Ok I had a really cute idea: modern!Au where the reader has a shitty day and texts Geralt if they could crash at their place. They say yeah but they'll be home late tonight. Fast forward some time and they come home to see the reader sleeping in their bed wearing the witcher's jacket??? ensue cute sleepy cuddles??? ok thanks bye] ok this is such a cute lil idea and my first time writing an au, i think? who knows anymore XD

The rain pours down in icy sheets as Geralt brushes down Roach in her stall. His phone vibrates in his pocket just as he is chopping some pumpkin into rough chunks. He sits down on a stool with the pumpkin in a bowl resting on his knee. Roach nudges Geralt’s shoulder as he holds out some snacks on his palm, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Geralt’s lip twitches a bit when he sees your name on the tiny screen before he flips open the phone. 

He reads your text as Roach snuffles in his ear, mouthing at his hair with impatience. He holds up another piece of pumpkin, squinting at your message. It reads, “hey :) so...it’s been a hell of a day. would you mind if i came over?” His reply takes a moment, since he has to press all of the number buttons to get the right letters to come up. 

“Of couRse. I am still with Roach, but I should be back by nightfal5.” Geralt waits until he sees your reply of a simple “thanks,” frowning a bit as he shoves the phone back in his pocket. 

“Hope everything is okay…” he murmurs as he begins to clear out the stall for the night. He gives Roach a strong pat on the flank as he moves to leave, turning back when she huffs and swings her head into his side. Roach gets a quick peck on the nose and Geralt is free to leave, grabbing his bag with all of his shit and throwing it into his truck.

He turns the key and Jaskier’s voice sings through the speakers. Geralt groans unconsciously as he puts the truck in drive, turning out of the pastures onto the little back roads. Jask gave him the CD of his music, and it promptly got stuck in the little thingy that holds it. Plus, his volume knobs don’t ~really~ work, so it’s just been Jaskier, singing along as Geralt drives down country roads for what feels like  _ twenty fucking years.  _

_ Eh, it’s better than silence.  _ But Geralt would never tell Jaskier that. 

He mulls in his thoughts the entire drive home, and he can feel his brow grow tense with how long it has been furrowed in frustration. The rain slows as Geralt pulls into his driveway, the sun finally having set behind the cover of clouds. Geralt turns off the truck and closes the garage, headed straight to the laundry room to kick off his dirty clothes and put them straight into the wash. His boots need a good cleaning, but that can wait. He throws on a white t-shirt and some comfy sweatpants before padding over the wooden floors into the rest of the house. 

His kitchen light is on, waiting for him in the dark of the evening. You are nowhere to be found, so Geralt heads over to his bedroom. When he tips open the door, he spots you laying atop the blankets, wrapped around one of his pillows, asleep to the world. When he steps closer, he notices that you have put on one of his old sweatshirts. It used to be blacker than night, but the years have worn it into an almost dingy grey. There’s a little wolf stitched just above the breastbone. Geralt has had that sweatshirt for more years than he would care to count, and here you are, swathed in it like your life depended on it. 

Geralt smirks as he kneels next to you on the bed, stroking down your cheek with a quiet reverence. Moments like this, where he can just observe you in your most peaceful state, are Geralt’s favorite. He wonders just how he got so lucky to have you in his life, and worries that he won’t be enough. But before he can fall too far into that rabbit hole your eyes flutter, widening and then relaxing when you spot Geralt.

“Hi there,” Geralt rumbles, leaning down to press his lips against yours. He feels you sigh into him, lazily wrapping your arms around his neck to hold him close to you. “Everything all right?”

“Mhmm,” you nod into his neck, “just a long day.”

“Anything I can do?” Geralt asks, knowing exactly what you’ll say and prepared to honor your request to the t.

“Hold me?” 

Geralt smiles as he climbs off of the bed, reaching underneath you to untuck the blankets. “Here, love. Let me get you comfortable.”

You grumble as he scooches you around before climbing under the covers himself. You clamber into his arms, fitting your head into the crook of his neck as you tangle your limbs together. 

Geralt was wrong.  _ These  _ are his favorite moments, when you are the one holding him in the depths of night. 

Geralt listens to your breathing, waiting for you to fall back asleep. But it never quite evens out, and just as he is about to say something, you beat him to it.

“You smell like Roach.” Your voice is muffled and thick with slumber, and Geralt chuckles under his breath.

“Would you like for me to shower?”

You nod, but don’t loosen your grip around his waist.

“Would you like to join me?”

Geralt feels your smile against his neck, followed by a breathy “ _ Please.”  _

__ He pulls you with him as he rolls over, fitting his arms under you as he moves to stand. He walks into the bathroom and sets you down on the cool tile, turning the water on to a comfortable temperature. Your hair is sleep-mussed and you’re still wearing that sweatshirt, and Geralt isn’t sure you’ve ever looked more beautiful. He fits his finger under your chin and tilts it up to meet his gaze.

“I love you,” he whispers, and the smile you give him could shine through the densest clouds in the sky. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading :) you can find me on tumblr @pressedinthepages


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